Sex on Fire
by some kind of exquisite
Summary: FinnickKatniss. Angst. Mild lemons. Slightly OOC. Catching Fire spoilers!
1. Release

**A/N: Well, here it is! :D The love child of Inferno (still up for a little while longer) and my guilty pleasure. Leave reviews 'cause reviews are love and I love love :)**

**ONE**

It was a silent ritual. We didn't speak of it after it happened and as far as we knew, it was unknown to the others onboard.

"Harder."

Gale would despise me if he knew, no doubt. After all, I was Katniss, his hunting partner. Not Katniss who needed to escape her own head through such desperate means.

"Faster."

Not the strong, fearless hunter I'd spent years trying to become. The strong-willed girl who could get by on her own. Who depended on no one and nothing.

"Shut up," he grunted, his sea green eyes full of anger. It wasn't directed at me. I'd learnt that already. And I could see him taking pains to avoid hurting me. He was angry with himself. Angry with himself for not being able to cope, for doing this to Annie, the poor mad girl who could never afford him this kind of bliss, and for (in his twisted understanding) taking advantage of me like this.

"Don't tell me to-" I began but the desperation in his eyes killed the words on my tongue.

His eyes flickered away from mine quickly after that, sensing perhaps that they'd revealed too much. I felt his heartbeat quicken through the sinewy muscle pressing against my chest. He was close. Recognizing the pleasurable burn deep in my stomach, I realized that I was just about there myself.

"Fin-" I began.

"Katniss, please." His voice was cold, formal.

I winced. With one last violent thrust, I felt my world explode. I couldn't see. I could only make out stars in the blinding white light dominating my vision. Finnick buried his face – the face thousand of women in the Capitol and across the districts would give anything to be with for the night – in my hair and I could tell that he, like me, was forgetting in that suspended moment of pure bliss.

It was over as quickly as it had come, though. All too soon, he collected his things and locked himself in the shower. I could hear the hot water blasting loud enough to muffle – but not completely cover up – his strangled cries.

He was hurting, just like me and that's how this silent arrangement had begun.

I pulled on my baggy jeans and cut off shirt, tucking loose strands of hair behind my ears. I found myself standing in front of the full-length mirror, disgusted at my own reflection. The hollow-eyed girl staring back at me was only a shadow of my former self. Before Peeta. Before the Hunger Games. Before any of this. The formerly glowing olive skin had dulled to a sickly yellow. My dark hair hung in oily strands around my face and I hastily arranged it into a sloppy imitation of my mother's braids. The spark in my grey eyes was extinguished. The eyes staring back at me now were that of a…a junkie. Someone who could barely hold it together long enough to get to District 13 or be worthy of leading a revolution. Someone who relied on these "sessions" with Finnick to stay alive and in one piece.

"I'm sorry."  
The two words I'd grown so accustomed to hearing that they rolled right off of me shook me out of my analysis. I turned to see Finnick, fresh of out of his shower, standing against the bathroom door with only a flimsy white towel wrapped dangerously low on his waist and water droplets glistening against his golden abs.

His face was etched with remorse. "I didn't-"

I growled angrily. "Oh shut up."

He looked surprised, head snapping up to look at me. "…Sorry?"

"Cut it out," I ordered. "You know I need this just as much as you do-"

"Still doesn't make it right," he argued, though he barely had the energy anymore. "You're only a child, Kat-"

"Didn't seem like that a few minutes ago," I smirked.

He flinched. "Just because- Look, that doesn't mean- I have Annie. And…you and Peeta…"

It was my turn to wince. "Don't… just… don't. We'll find them. And then…"

"And then what?" he asked harshly. I gave a small shrug.

"We deal with the consequences."

"We land in two days."

I gaped. "It's been nearly a week! How-"

"Haymitch is taking the long route." Finnick shrugged. He dropped the towel as he talked, pulling on random articles of clothing. I turned, embarrassed despite having seen him in much more compromising situations.

"To avoid suspicion," he finished. I heard a snort, no doubt at my show of modesty. "The Capitol's monitoring all the usual airways and routes. We're taking a roundabout course Heavensbee devised."  
I nodded, licking my chapped lips. "Makes sense I guess."

He made for the doorway then, as if a thought just occurred to him, turned and looked at me, cheeks tinged pink.

"Tomorrow then?" He bit his lip. He had that look again. The mixture of remorse, embarrassment, pleading and a hint of bashfulness. As if I would suddenly say no, walk out and leave him to break apart on his own. I needed him and he needed me. No words needed to explain that. It was the way things were.


	2. Masquerade

**TWO**

Masks are fascinating things. They can be so exquisite, so flawless; like those Venetian masks people wore to the decadent balls of pre-Panem days. People then made films, wrote novels and drew paintings of people adorned in masks. Gold, silver, hand-crafted, absolutely breathtaking.

How ugly they were. How insipid and moronic to don a mask, to _hide_, when you had absolutely no reason, no _right_, to be hiding. Now, I had a reason to hide. To escape and just forget the past year. I'd forget Peeta, forget Haymitch, forget President Snow and his stupid Games. I'd forget Finnick. I'd forget Finnick and the way he made my heart race. I'd forget Finnick and the way my olive skin flushed a deep red in his presence and how he never seemed to react the same way. I'd forget the casual touches and caresses around the others which made me feel wanted and important. Like I hadn't completely failed every single person and like I still had a secret, a piece of myself that I could keep to myself. Everyone in all of Panem knew about me and Peeta, or thought they did anyway. Everyone had seen my physical limitations tested in the Games and, bit by excruciating bit, my life come crashing down around me in an inferno. A blaze of smoke and fire... Katniss Evergreen. _Girl on Fire_.

"...and I know it's been hard on you both," Haymitch was saying. Like he knew. The selfish, self-fulfilling bastard.

"I know you've made...sacrifices." I wanted to hit him. The daring, the nerve- Apparently, Finnick agreed because he squeezed the small of my back then where his hand rested.

"Finnick, I'm so deeply regretful for what happened to Annie-" A strangled moan sounded from beside me.

My heart skipped more beats than I could count. Poor Finnick. Poor, poor Finnick. At least, I could pretend Peeta was fine and looking for me. In my fantasy world, I could pretend.

"Haymitch, I'm sure you mean well..." I struggled to control my voice. Anger pressed at my vocal chords, threatening to spill through like a dam bursting open suddenly. "But your words aren't going to help us. If you d-don't mind-"

Why was I still standing there? Why hadn't I punched him and made him bleed for my pain already? For Finnick's pain?

"-we'll be leaving." I said this with a determined air of finality and, dragging Finnick behind me, I led him out of the room.

His sinfully green eyes were unfocused and contained a note of sadness. Ha. Sadness. What an understatement. What a small, meaningless and overused word made redundant by those who never understood or experienced true sadness.

We managed to stumble our way back to my room, back to the beginning. He turned, green eyes pleading.

"I really am so-"

I plastered my lips to his, fusing our tongues in a fierce battle for redemption. Something neither of us would likely ever find.

I remembered what he said yesterday. _I have Annie..._

No, he didn't. Finnick Odair, adored by many, wanted by all, was truly alone.

"I think..." I began. My voice sounded awful. Croaky and hoarse, pitching at the end like a pubescent boy. I was embarrassed.

I turned, only to be faced with a mirror. "I think..." There. That was better.

"I think I love you...?" I posed it as a question then immediately wanted to laugh and cry at the same time at how ridiculous it sounded.

I didn't turn back around to face Finnick. To get lost in those deep aching green pools again.

Instead, I watched his unmoving reflection with something between bashfulness and humiliation twisting my features. And anger. Anger for thinking something so pure, so achingly beautiful could love something that looked like it had been found feeding on a dead carcass in the middle of the jungle back. Unrequited, that's what they called it.

I shut my eyes so I didn't have to see him laugh with scorn and derision before walking away.

Instead, I felt hand at my back, running up my bare leg to the hem of my black shorts. I felt a hand slipping under the thin black fabric of my tee shirt but not moving further up. Just resting where it lay, a coarse thumb kneading the dip of the soft dimples there.

_Dimples of Venus_, Finnick had once called them. _They're rare,_ he said. _Beautiful._

"I love..." he began but his voice tailed off. I was surprised to find it was as raw as mine. Somehow, it was sexy on him.

"I just need-" I tried again, stroking the fists now balled at the sides of my shoulders.

"I want..." he tried again but his voice tailed off again.

Throwing all caution to the wind, I turned around, pressing myself to him so firmly, we were practically one entity. Arms laced, hair tangled, sweat converging until we became one heap of fragile, unbridles passion. Yes, passion. It almost transcended the pain now.

Almost.

**Okay, I realize this is an absurdly late update but I've had some problems (and doubts) concerning my writing recently. I suppose it's just like getting back on a bike after a while so I'm going to work on it. :) **

**Also if any Finnick-fans have read **_Mockingjay_**, they'll understand why this chapter is excessively depressing. **


	3. Ocean

**THREE**

"Finnick, about what I said before..." I start. He turns, muscles visibly tensed and frozen in the doorway. My mind reels, trying to think what I should say next. I've thought long and hard about this so where are my words now? It's almost insulting the way he stands there, shirtless with his damp hair hanging in his eyes. Like fate is showing me what I will never have. What I don't deserve.

"Yes?" he asks finally. I realize then that I have been standing with my mouth agape like a complete moron. I clear my throat again and again words fail me.

"It's not important," he says finally, a shadow of a smile ghosting his lips. It isn't insincere but it doesn't quite reach his eyes either. "...right?"

"Right," I lie. "It was a ...a spur-of-the-moment thing. A slip of the tongue."

I want to scream, to hit him even. Why was it so hard to believe I could love him? Were those below him supposed to be immune to him? Hell, I could pretend. I wouldn't get far, but I could pretend.

"I'll...I'll see you then." With one last peck on my forehead, as though I were his seven year old sister, he departs my room.

Exhaling sharply, I sink against the wall, not bothering to move the dark hair obscuring my vision. I don't know how long I sit like that, knees pressed painfully against my chin but I don't get up until a weary yet boyish voice shakes me out of my reverie.

"Katniss?"

"G-Gale. Hey..."

"Are you alright? Haymitch was looking for you. Something about apologizing."

"How long have you been standing there?"

"Long enough to see you looking like hell. God, get up off the floors will you? Who knows what's been on there."

I laugh, hiccupping over the salty tear travelling down my cheek.

"Kat? hey, what's wrong?"

"Nothing," I reply, feeling stupid all over again. "God, nothing. I just...I just want to cry all the time now and...and..."

More tears follow the last one, pooling in the corners of my eyes and spilling down my wet cheeks like a salty waterfall.

"Kat? Katniss, talk to me."

I look up into Gale's eyes, identical grey irises boring into each other. "I can't. You don't understand, Gale. You never will. Not like...not like he does."

"Like who? Kat!"

I flinched, my ears paining at his shouts.

"Don't do that."

"Sorry. Is...Is it Peeta?"

I pause for a fraction of a second, not understanding. Peeta. Oh God. And just like that, a fresh wave of pain hits me. Tears spill faster now until my vision is reduced to blurred fragments of colour moving against each other. The tears turn cold at my chin, dripping to the carpet and painting a wet mosaic against the paper-thin teal floor.

"Sunuvabitch." I don't turn to hear who says this. It's Finnick. It has to be, I'd know that voice anywhere whether it's in my dreams or grunting into my ear in between cold sheets.

"What did you do to her?" Finnick's eyes are like the ocean on a stormy night. Dark, tumultuous, deadly.

"Nothing, Finnick I-"

A sharp crack resonates in the air and blood dribbles down Gale's chin.

"Finnick, he didn't-" I begin but instead melt into the firm embrace invading my personal space. Two strong hands grip my waist and pull me towards the uncomfortable bed with its now twisted sheets and wet mattress.

"What the hell, man?" Gale looks angry but it's not on the same level as Finnick. Gale is confused, in physical pain. Finnick is beyond human rage, clutching me and looking ready to fight to the death should Gale so much as look at me.

"It's fine," I began, attempting to pry loose from Finnick's iron grasp. "Everything's fine. Gale, could you give us a minute?"

"The hell I am. Stop touching her."

Blood boils under the surface of my skin, burning my face and neck an unflattering beetroot shade.

"This is more complicated than you think, Gale." My voice sounds tired even to me.

Finnick sneers in his direction, "So you can make her cry again?"

"I didn't-"

"He didn't do anything, Fin. I was just being a... a cry-baby, as usual."

Finnick's eyes softened, smoothing down my stringy hair. "You don't need to cover for him."

Gale was bewildered. "Are you two-"

"No," I say flatly as Finnick responds surely with, "Yes."

We both turn, eyes locking onto each other. "Finnick, did you just-"

"Yes," he confirms, eyes steely with resolve. "I only want you, Katniss. You, me...this," he gestures to the bed behind him, understanding hanging in the air between us. "Hell, I _need_ it. It's beyond me now. My life, the revolution, all this...it means nothing without you. You won't become like..." His voice chokes up. "Like Annie. I'll make sure of it. I'll protect you. I won't lose you too."

Ignoring the heavy footfalls leaving the room or the loud but sure _thump-thump-thump_ of my heart, I close the space between us. It's sweet release, relinquishing myself - body and soul - to the restless ocean. I let it consume me, take over my entire being and simply enjoy the taste of pain, of lust and ultimately, of something greater than that. I hesitate to call it love, to reduce it to a four-letter cliché, but the wild soaring in my chest and the pleasant buzz overriding my body care to disagree.


	4. Ceiling

**A/N: Okay, so I don't know how I can justify the hiatus this fic has gone on, but to say that high school has been HELL and anyone who's done it or is going through their junior/senior year can attest to this. I've had exam upon exam and late night study sessions, leaving very little time for updating anything whether in fanfiction or original fiction. Luckily, I'm all done now, graduated and everything. So, without further ado, here is Chapter Four of SoF! xoxo.**

**FOUR**

We met in the makeshift dining room-slash-planning room the next morning for a mission update, Gale sat at the far end of the table, flanking Heavensbee, and determinedly avoiding the eyes of both Finnick and I. What would he find there, I wondered. Remorse? Apology? Or perhaps gratitude because, through his unintentional meddling, we had found each other. Katniss and Finnick. Finnick and Katniss. The concept both frightened and delighted me.

We hadn't retired to our usual methods of release after Gale's departure yesterday. No, intimacy had been redefined for the two of us. Now, it was in every touch, every caress, every whispered sweet nothing. We both held on, nails sinking into flesh, as though the other were the only thing anchoring us to reality. So we both held on, drinking the others' pain, not dissolving it entirely but absorbing it, destructing it, using it to strengthen us. To strengthen whatever warped bond we had formed in these extenuating circumstances. I swallowed a derisive laugh. Extenuating circumstances. That was one way of looking at it, I supposed. To a third party observer entirely removed from the tumult of emotions involved.

Haymitch and Heavensbee were still taking an absurd length of time rifling through loos sheets of paper and muttering furiously in low tones. Still Gale made a point of looking everywhere but into my pleading grey eyes.

Under the scratched dark wood of the table, a strong warm and all too familiar hand clasped her own, squeezing in reassurance.

"Alright," Haymitch boomed, turning to face the rest of us. "We land at 3AM, bright and early. We've just been told the Capitol sent several aircraft to District 13 a few days ago. Searching for what exactly, we don't know. However, as a result, the Resistance has moved underground where they will remain until...until it's safe to come out."

I knew what that was code for, of course. When Panem was destabilized and President Snow's head was on a pike. Then it would be safe to 'come out'.

We were dismissed. Gale took the first opportunity he saw to storm out of the room, before most had even moved from their chairs. With a wary glance exchanged between two lovers, so quick you could have missed it, Finnick and I also broke apart. I retired to my room, just laying against the still rumpled sheets I didn't have the time to fix earlier, and staring up at the water-damages ceiling. It looked so fragile, so thin...

"Katniss."

I scrambled to sit up, only relaxing when I realized it was Gale's tense figure that filled my doorway.

"Yes, Gale?"

"I think we need to talk." He paused, looking down at his hands as though they might offer up some inspiration.

"About?" I prompted.

"I always thought..." he choked off. "It was always Peeta, Katniss, what happened? It was always either me or Peeta. I knew exactly who my competition was then. Now... When did he enter the equation?"

"Gale." My heart broke for him, seeing him distraught and pleading. He was always Gale, the fearless hunter; Gale, the strong; Gale, the impenetrable.

"How old is he, anyway?" Gale rampaged on. He was looking for chinks, I knew. Chinks in the armour that was Finnick and I. But we'd come this far, lost so much, we weren't letting trivial matters hold us back. "It's because...it's because he's Finnick Odair, isn't it?"

"What-" I furrowed my eyebrows. He had lost me now, I didn't have a clue what had him so worked up.

"I've heard the girls talk," Gale went on, despite the obvious discomfort reddening his cheeks. "Back in...back home, in school, and...around town. All they see is muscle and pretty eyes. He's tall too, I suppose. And he'd be old enough to know how to coerce-"

My eyes flew wide open, larger than I had ever known they could go. "Stop right there, Hawthorne."

He did as I asked, likely out of shock at the cold anger in my voice. I felt that familiar pressure against my vocal cords, unimaginable rage wanting to burst through my careful composure.

"Don't you dare," I started, trying to get the wobble in my voice under control. "Assume you know the first thing about Finnick and I. This...This...Whatever it is we have, goes far beyond anything you could possibly comprehend. God, all we've been through, and you think this comes down to...to looks?"

I spluttered the last few words, shocked and angry as I was as his assumption. It dawned on me then. Of course he didn't know. Even Peeta was able to better understand the pain, the fear, associated with the Hunger Games. He'd done it twice, I'd done it twice, Finnick had gone through the same nightmare twice and the pain of loving a mad girl on top of that. There was an unspoken bond there, a dreadful understanding. One Gale just could not grasp.

He kept quiet, and I was pleased to note the meekness seeping into his expression. Weakening it, pushing his head down.

"_We_ barely understand what this is," I told him. "So don't assume to know yourself, al-alright?"

I was tired. I wanted him out of my room, I knew that much. Gale just watched me quietly, eyes boring into the same identical grey.

"Fine," he muttered. "You're way too good for him, Kat. I hope you know that."

Before I could argue (or worse, throw something at him), he swept from the room, shutting my door behind him. With a strangled cry, I fell back onto the sheets.

Several deep breaths later, I fought back the tears threatening to spill. I wouldn't break down again, I couldn't. The weak, rotted ceiling stared back at me pityingly. I swore that for as long as that ceiling remained intact, fighting to stay in one piece, I would fight too.

**Thanks for all the lovely reviews, guys! **


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